Those Left Behind
by shadows59
Summary: The final battle with Glory goes far worse, leaving Dawn, Giles and Anya to move on after the deaths of their friends
1. Prologue

Title: Those Left Behind

By: Shadows59

Spoilers: Up to the Gift

Rating: PG-15 for violence.

Summary: The final battle with Glory goes far worse, leaving Dawn, Giles and Anya to move on after the deaths of their friends

Disclaimer: BTVS is owned, beaten and abused by Joss Whedon.

Author's note 1: Xander was Glory's host, not Ben.

Author's note 2: The prologues are based on what I've heard to be the original plan for the Gift.

Now, on with the show.

PROLOGUE ONE - WHITE KNIGHT STAINED RED

Giles stood in the shadows and watched Buffy and Glory fight. It was a terrible thing to watch, in every sense of the word.

And the outcome was never in doubt.

"Stop it!" Glory commanded, somehow managing to still sound regal despite the fact that she was on her knees and her face was a bloody mask.

"You're a god, make me stop," Buffy snapped back, her first words since the fight started, and slammed the head of the hammer into Glory's face. The impact knocked the goddess back a dozen feet. Buffy followed after with all of the warmth of a shark circling its prey.

"Please stop," Glory begged, for what must have been the first time in her existence, as she tried to push herself up.

Buffy paused. "Get out of Xander's body and I will."

Glory actually laughed. "What do you think I was trying to do?"

The laugh became a howl when Buffy brought the hammer down on Glory's hand.

"I can't!" Glory sobbed as she clutched her ruined hand to her chest. "I'm stuck in the flesh bag until I go home. So, unless you'll stand aside..."

This was the moment Giles had been dreading since the gas station, since they learned that Xander was Glory's human prison.

Since Buffy's breakdown...

To save her sister, to save the world, Buffy had to kill one of her dearest friends. And if she couldn't do it...

There were unshed tears staining her voice when she gave Glory her answer. "I'm so sorry, Xander." She tightened her grip on the handle, raised the war hammer over her head... and let it slip between her fingers as she dropped to her knees. She and the hammer hit the ground at the same moment, though the latter made far more noise against the pavement. "Xander?"

"Buffy?"

Before Xander could say anything else Buffy had her arms around him. "It'll be okay, Xander, you'll see. Willow and Giles will make everything better."

Giles closed his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh. She had such faith in him, all of them did, so much more than he deserved.

"No, Buffy," Xander began, but his words were lost in a burst of wet coughs.

"You'll see," Buffy repeated with the confidence of a child. "Next week we'll all be back in the Magic Box trying not to listen as Anya brags about... You know." Giles could only imagine her blush as she paused for breath. What she said next was so soft Giles had to strain to hear it. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Buffy..."

And then the ground shook as a muffled explosion rocked the air. Buffy turned, her face pale under the streetlight, and looked back down the alley to the tower. Then she turned back and kissed Xander's forehead. "Just sit tight. I'll be right back."

She didn't wait for an answer before she stood and disappeared down the alley.

Giles stood frozen to the ground. He knew what had to be done, but...

And then Xander turned to look at him. "You can come out now, G-Man."

Giles stepped out of the shadows with all the grace of Frankenstein's monster. "I thought I asked you not to call me that?"

"I've held back for three years now. Figured I'd go wild." Xander grinned, his grin broken by gapping holes.

"Yes, you've been..." Giles voice broke, the act no longer worth the effort.

Xander's forced grin faded. "Don't, Giles. Trust me, it feels bad enough already."

"How did you know I was here?"

"Glory saw you, but she was a little busy." Xander closed his eyes. "I remember everything, Giles, everything Glory did. All the blood, all those people she violated, Tara... God, Willow must..."

"Willow could never hate you, Xander."

"I tried to stop her, I swear I did... But she was too strong, and I'd forget every time she slipped back inside..."

Giles knelt down and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I know you did. No one could've done more."

Xander didn't seem to hear him. "I couldn't even get Dawn away..."

"You did all you could. Of that I'm certain."

Xander shuddered for a moment, and then opened his eyes to stare at Giles. "You can't get her out, can you?"

Giles almost lied. "No. The two of you have been together too long..."

"Thought so. Buffy should have..."

"She couldn't. Doing even this much nearly broke her."

"I know, she's a hero." Xander said it with the same calm acceptance as if he said the sun would rise tomorrow.

"As are you."

Xander gave Giles a what-movie-are-you-watching look before he shrugged it away. "She'll be back."

"I know."

"Take care of my girls, and watch out for Anya for me. I know she can be annoying, but..."

But he loved her. At first Giles had doubted that - the fact that he'd almost polished through a pair of glasses because of the two hadn't helped matters - but they'd clearly been happy together. "I will."

"And tell her I'm sorry that I missed our big day."

"Of course," Giles readily agreed even though he didn't have a clue as to what the young man was talking about.

"Don't let Buffy blame herself," Xander paused and studied Giles' face, "and no getting drunk and listening to 60's music over this."

Giles could only nod. He wanted to say how proud he was of the young man, he wanted to say so many things, but he couldn't find the words. He stared down at Xander and knew it wouldn't take much; Buffy had come so close to killing the boy already. A quick cut, or a sharp twist would do it...

But he couldn't...

Xander gave Giles a half smile. "Let's put this bitch in the ground." With that he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the dirty pavement.

Giles reached over and wrapped his hands over Xander's face, clamping the boy's nose together with one while holding his mouth shut with the other. Xander didn't fight at all until the very end, when instinct overrode all else.

Finally even that weak struggle stopped.

"Godspeed, Xander," Giles whispered as he reached up to close Xander's eyes, only to pause when he saw a bright white light flash inside them.

He jumped back in horror, thinking only that Glory had somehow survived, when he heard what sounded like thunder behind him. He turned and saw the sky torn open high over his head.

The key had been used. He'd murdered the closest thing he ever had to a son for nothing.

PROLOGUE TWO - HURTS SO BIG

The metal grating dug into Dawn's bare feet, but she ignored the pain and stood as still as possible so she could listen.

Before she could hear the clang of metal on metal, war cries, and - worse of all - the occasional scream of pain. Then there was an explosion that rocked the tower so hard she expected the whole thing to come tumbling down. It was, after all, designed and built by crazy people. Somehow she doubted it was up to code.

After that there was nothing.

It was over. All that was left to do was see who won. Dawn watched the final length of ladder and waited.

Then she got her answer.

She let out a shriek of fear when Willow appeared not ten feet away, on the opposite edge of the glorified plank that she was tied to. "God, Willow!" She said, annoyed at herself for being so scared. "You could at least say bamf when you do that."

That was when she saw the bloody knife in Willow's hand. Worrying, yes, but she could deal. It was the funny way that Willow said, "Hi, Dawnie," that freaked her out.

"Are you alright? 'Cause I kinda thought seeing Xander in a dress would be the freakiest part of this week..."

Actually, the freakiest part was watching the crazy bottle-blond bitch-god turn into the man she'd been crushing on for the last five years. He looked so scared - which made things so much worse, because Xander NEVER looked scared - as he snuck her out of Glory's bunker downstairs.

He'd gotten her to the street and told her to run, which she did. She wasn't stupid. She'd thought he was right behind her, and then she heard a bottle smash. When she turned back Xander's arm was a bloody mess. If Glory...

She was almost glad when Glory came back.

"No, definitely not of the good," Willow admitted with a sad shake of her head as she started walking across the platform.

"D-did something happen to Buffy? Or Xander?"

Willow paused to look down over the edge. " No. She'd fine, and he's... Well, he's not fine, but he's still alive."

Dawn just stared. She couldn't see anything from up here, how could... And then Willow turned back, and Dawn saw her face in the light for the first time. "What happened to your eyes?" They were like twin black orbs. Empty spaces without a hint of the Willow Dawn knew.

Willow looked confused until she brushed her hand over her eyes. "Oh, that. It's just a side effect. Nothing to worry about."

"Wow, that makes me feel so much not better," Dawn said and started pulling at the ropes that held her still again. She'd stopped before because she'd rubbed her wrists almost raw trying to slip free. Now a little pain didn't seem like such a big deal. "What happened?"

"Tara died," Willow said with the barest flicker of emotion as she held up the knife for Dawn to see. "I saved her, gave her back her mind, and then one of the crazies... I wasn't paying attention..."

"Oh, God," Dawn whimpered as she stared at the still wet blood that gleamed on the blade. "Willow, I'm so sorry."

"I felt her leave me," Willow said, her voice drifting away. "I tried to stop her, to bring her back, but I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough." Her hand tightened on the knife's handle. "So I made myself stronger."

Then she turned back to Dawn and smiled a real, one-hundred-percent genuine Willow smile. "You're so pretty. All green and flashy. I don't know how I missed it for so long." She reached over and brushed her hand across Dawn's stomach.

Dawn let out a startled, "Hey! Bad touch! Bad touch!" as she pushed herself as far away from Willow as she could.

Willow let her hand drop but kept grinning. "No mortal person has ever had this much power. Ever. I actually feel it surging through every cell of my body... Every molecule... Like I'm connected to everything, everyone." Her smile faded. "All the emotion... All the pain... The whole world screaming out..."

"For ice cream?" Dawn asked, trying her best to be as brave as the bravest person she knew.

"For the pain to stop." She took another step towards Dawn. "I can stop it - WE can stop it."

"If you want to stop MY pain, luv," Spike interrupted, "then stop flapping your lips."

"Spike?" Dawn asked as she strained to see past Willow. She wasn't sure... she hadn't heard him come up - one of the drawbacks of being friends with a vampire - but he was there, and it had to be the single best sight she'd ever seen. Except for... "Spike?" She asked again with worry.

Spike glanced down at the growing bloodstain over his stomach. "No need to worry, Niblet. Took a rebar through the gut, is all. Be better in no time. Coat's a loss, though."

Willow didn't even bother to turn. "Why do you bother, Spike? She'll never love you."

"She who?" Dawn asked. Willow and Spike ignored her, which was of the good for once.

Spike glared a hole into the back of the red head's skull. "Because I made a promise."

"Really? Tara promised that she'd never leave me," Willow said as if that explained everything. "Incendre."

Spike and Dawn's screams mixed together as the vampire burst into flames.

Dawn screamed again when Willow slashed the knife across her stomach, the tip of the blade cut through the freaky robe and her flesh like they were so much tissue paper.

Once it was all the way through Willow twisted the knife around in her hand for another pass across Dawn's stomach, only to stop. The darkness in her eyes flickered as she whispered, "Xander?"

With that single world, Dawn knew that Xander was gone.

And then Spike was there, his body still burning as he tackled Willow off the platform. The two hung in midair for a moment, fire consuming them both, before they fell.

Dawn could still see the streak of light as she closed her eyes and waited. Even though she knew it was coming she still jumped when she heard the wet thump of flesh on the concrete.

And then she heard something else, the clatter of boots on metal. So she opened her eyes just as Buffy pulled herself up the last length of ladder. "Dawn! Thank God! When I saw that thing fall..." Buffy said with a grin. A grin that faded the moment she saw her sister. "Oh, God. You're hurt."

Dawn looked down and pained whimper when she saw what was now a bloody gash in her stomach, she'd completely forgotten about it until Buffy reminded her. Buffy was over in an instant, her hands pressing against the cut, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was too late.

Dawn felt the blood trickle down her leg. A single drop ran between her toes and slipped through the grating.

There was a blast of wind and a flash of light as her blood tore through the fabric of reality.

"Come on!" Buffy shouted as she all but ripped the ropes off of Dawn's arms and started dragging her sister across the grating to the ladder.

Dawn yanked her arm free of Buffy's grip and looked down. She could see the portal through the gating. It was rolling ball of energy, twenty feet straight down, and growing with every moment. "I can't. Buffy, it's started," Dawn said and took a hesitant step back down the platform. "It's all my fault. All of it. And I can stop it."

"No!" Buffy screamed and grabbed Dawn so hard that Dawn was surprised her bones didn't break. Buffy took a deep breath and loosened her grip. "No, we just have to find Willow and Tara..."

Dawn swallowed hard. "They're dead."

"What?"

"They're dead!" Dawn turned and screamed in Buffy's face. She could feel herself crying but she didn't care. "Xander too! They're all dead and it's my fault!"

"No," Buffy said, shaking her head. "No, Xander's not... I just saw him..."

"He's dead. He's dead and it's all my fault." With that Dawn turned her back on her sister and started down the platform.

"No!" Buffy shouted as she grabbed Dawn by the arm and spun her around. "I can't... I can't lose you too. The fall - whatever that thing is - it'll kill you!"

"I know," Dawn said, her voice a whisper, "but I have to. My blood opened it, and my blood will close it."

"Blood?" Buffy repeated as she stared down at Dawn's stomach, and then down at her own arm. She was smiling as she leaned forward to kiss Dawn on the forehead. "I love you, Dawn, never forget that. Live the life we couldn't."

"What?" Dawn asked, confused until Buffy ran past her. "Buffy, no!" She screamed and reached out. She felt the fabric of Buffy's shirt slip through her fingers and tried to grab it, but her hands were still too numb from being tied up for so long.

She could only watch as Buffy ran to the edge of the platform.

PROLOGUE THREE: SAYING GOODBYE

"Dawn?" Anya knew something was wrong when she opened her eyes and saw the girl sitting there alone next to her.

Actually, she knew something was wrong when she woke up and found she couldn't move the right half of her body. That's what got her to shake off the last of whatever was keeping her asleep and open her eyes. She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or not when she saw the cast that ran from her toes to almost her hip on her right leg, but she knew she was annoyed when she saw that her right arm was in a sling again.

She was about to let out a series of scathing and rabbit-related epithets when she saw Dawn sitting there.

The girl's nose was red and puffy, as was the area around her eyes. All of which said bad.

"Dawnie? What happened?"

Dawn didn't answer. She just put her head on Anya's left shoulder and started crying.

Anya tried to wrap her good arm around Dawn and started whispering nothing sounds into the top of the teenager's head. All the things Xander had done to make her feel better when Joyce had...

No one ever told her why.

"You want to put Spike's name on it, too?" Angel asked with an impressive mix of anger and disbelief.

Anya looked up, glad for a distraction from the stack of papers that were piled in front of her. She'd been staring at them for what felt like days, but she couldn't make out the words.

"He deserves to be there," Dawn answered, glaring back at Angel from across the dining room table.

"Then we must be talking about a different Spike," Cordelia said from her seat next to Anya, who wasn't sure why the former cheerleader was sitting so close. There was plenty of room around the table, after all. And she'd been hanging around a lot since she'd gotten here... Yesterday? That didn't seem right. "Because the Spike I remember - you know, the one who attacked the school on Parent-Teacher night, assembled the Judge, kidnapped Willow and Xander, and gave Angel to a child molesting torture freak - doesn't deserve a damn thing."

"He deserves to be there," Anya repeated, though without Dawn's fire.

Cordelia gave her an odd look, and then turned to the head of the table. "Giles?"

Anya turned too, she'd been so glad when Giles had gotten back from Los Angeles. She'd thought he'd... It didn't matter that Dawn said he hadn't, she had to see him to be sure.

Giles eyes were empty when he finally looked up from his own pile of papers, which was far larger than either hers or Dawn's because they were the legal work to make him Dawn's guardian until they found her father, something he, Joyce and Buffy had set up before...

Those empty eyes went right to Angel. "You heard them, Spike's name deserves to be there. He, at least, was here when we needed him."

Angel, Cordelia and the other one from LA - Anya wasn't sure what his name was, she knew that they'd been introduced, but the actual name had slipped away. A lot of things seemed to have slipped away from her in the past few days - all looked like they'd been slapped.

"Hey, now..." Cordelia began.

Only to be cut off by Angel, who stood so fast that he knocked down his chair. "We would have been if anyone had bothered to tell us you had a Hell God running lose," he said, glaring down at Giles.

"Angel," the other guy... Weasely - Anya knew she'd remember, sooner or later - tried to step in.

"No, Wes. I was here three weeks ago and Buffy never said a word. We could have..."

"Died?" Anya asked. Every eye went to her. A whole roomful of pain aimed right at her.

And then they sifted to Angel, who actually went pale before he turned and left the room.

"Clearly tempers are a bit..." Weasely began.

Only to be cut off by the sound of something heavy hitting a wall in the living room. Everyone else looked confused, but Anya knew what it was. She'd heard the exact same sound when...

She felt Cordelia's arms wrap around her, and turned as much as she could in her wheelchair to bury her face in the other girl's shoulder so Giles and Dawn couldn't see her cry.

Then she was sitting on what used to be Joyce's bed, dressed in a long black skirt, which only made her cast stand out more, and a black bra while somebody - Cordelia probably, but she was never sure - tried to pull a black blouse over her right arm without actually moving it.

"Come on, Anya, you could help me out just a little bit here."

Eight people.

Anya looked around the all but empty chapel and counted again, just to be sure. Angel was sitting next to Dawn in the second pew, Wesley and Giles were two back, she and Cordelia were in the back, and Willow's parents were on the other side entirely and avoiding everyone else as much as possible.

Eight. Three more than they were burying.

And Willow's parents had been a close thing. It took Giles and Cordelia working together for a day to track them down. They never found Buffy's father - to no one but Dawn's surprise - and Tara's father had hung up when Giles called. Anya had called Xander's parents herself to make sure they'd be here. They'd promised...

But they never showed up. Their only son was dead, and they couldn't bother to show up for his funeral.

"Bastards," Anya muttered, forgetting where she was.

Cordelia looked over and took Anya's hand. "I know. They always were."

Anya looked over in surprise. She thought that she was the only one who knew... Buffy and Willow never said anything, not even after Buffy sat through one of the bigger fights. "They didn't deserve him."

"They really didn't..." Cordelia smiled and looked up at the urn that was sitting on the altar, second to the left.

Giles had insisted Xander be cremated, terrified that someone would bring Glory back and make all of this meaningless if he wasn't. He'd been equally afraid that she'd refuse, and surprised that she didn't until she explained that when she was first human all brave warriors were cremated, only cowards and women were actually buried.

She was only sorry they couldn't do a proper job and get boats.

After that Dawn had decided to do the same with Buffy. And Willow's parents didn't say a word when Giles asked them.

"...neither did we," Cordelia finished as she turned back to Anya. "He did love you, you know. We might not have talked often, what with us both busy with crappy jobs and saving the world, but I could tell that he did. I'm not sure if..."

"I know. He told me right before Christmas."

"He did?" Cordelia asked, surprised. And then she scowled and muttered, "Figures." That grew into a fiery rant, the kind that would have gotten Anya's attention in her Anyanka days, at least until it collapsed into tears and apologies and ended with Cordelia resting her head on Anya's shoulder for support.

Anya leaned her head against Cordelia's as they stared up at Xander's urn. Anya barely noticed it when she reached up and brushed her fingers against the engagement ring she had hanging by a chain under her blouse.

Today was the first time she'd worn the ring since he gave it to her at the abandoned gas station. She remembered being annoyed when he pulled her into an empty back room, even she knew it wasn't a good time for sex... But then he got down on one knee and pulled out the velvet box. She'd said yes.

Forever turned out to be about a half hour.

"...They were the best among us," Giles said. With that he turned away from the podium to look at the five urns that were set on the altar behind him. Anya wondered if he could see their faces as he stared, or if he just saw the jars that held their bodies.

Except for Spike's, of course.

Giles shuddered once before he turned and made his way back to his seat, every step almost painfully slow. Before he turned into his pew he glanced up at her - directly up, she was sitting in her wheelchair in the aisle because the pews were too narrow for her cast - and tried to smile.

Somehow, that only made things worse.

Spike Williams 1974-2001, Alexander Harris 1981-2001, Buffy Anne Summers 1981-2001, Willow Rosenberg 1982-2001, Tara MacLay 1981-2001

Beloved Friends

Devoted Family

They Saved the World

A Lot

Anya wondered if it would see any more real if she reached out and touched the engraved names. Then she wondered if she wanted it to feel any more real. In the end she just sat and stared.

"Anya," Cordelia called her name as she crouched down to look Anya in the eyes, "How're you doing?"

"Very well, thank you for asking," Anya said, her voice rough, without taking her eyes off the headstone.

"I'm not trying to buy anything," Cordelia said as she took Anya's hand again, "I just want to know how you're doing. Actually, I wanted to make sure you weren't frozen or anything, because you've been sitting here for a half-hour now."

"I'm fine," Anya said. "You should check on Dawn. She could use someone..."

"Angel's with her. Or she's with him, he can be a baby sometimes." Cordelia paused for a moment before going on. "And Wesley's with Giles, probably telling him to keep his lip starched or whatever British people say at these things. So I'm free if you need me."

"Why? Why've you been doing all of this? We aren't friends," Anya asked without venom.

"No, we're not," Cordelia agreed as crouched down so she could look Anya in the eye, "But he wouldn't want you to be alone right now."

Anya reached up with her left hand and fiddled with her necklace again as she turned back to the headstone. "We should have said more."

"Really? I thought Giles' eulogy was nice. Though if you want, I'll go get Wesley. He can yap on for hours."

"Not the... there was a eulogy?"

"I thought you looked out of it. How many painkillers did the doctor give you?" Cordelia asked, somehow forgetting that she'd been the one keeping track of when Anya was supposed to take the many pills she'd been given. "Do you need another one? It's been about six hours." With that she pulled her purse into her lap and started to reach inside.

"No. It doesn't hurt that much." Which it didn't, except for the throbbing she felt in her leg and the shooting pains in her shoulder whenever she shifted her arm even a little bit.

"Liar," Cordelia said, but she let her purse drop back to her side anyway.

"We only wrote ten words. We should have said more."

Cordelia turned to the headstone and smiled. "They're the right ten words."

"Maybe," Anya allowed, but not convinced.

"Trust me. They're the right ten." Cordelia grabbed her purse again and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. She scrawled something down, tore off the sheet, and handed it to Anya. "Here."

"What's this?"

"My number. Call me any time you want."

Anya stared down at the paper in her hand. "Why?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "In case you want to talk. About..." Her voice caught. "Well, let's just say I have stories, and so do you. Besides, you're one of the last people I know from high school and I... I wouldn't mind talking, all right?"

Anya half-shrugged again and pushed the piece of paper into her purse. "All right."

Cordelia grinned and pulled Anya into another hug. Anya put her left arm around Cordelia, but her eyes never left the tombstone.

The landscape outside was beautiful, made up of vivid green lawns and gardens that had been hand sculpted for generations in front of manor houses that all but screamed money. All done to say 'look, someone important lives here.'

Anya watched it all through the limousine's window without seeing any of it. All the important people she knew were 5,500 miles away and under a bit of polished rock.

Except for the two with her, of course. She turned away from the window. Giles was sitting in the seat in front of her, her leg propped up next to him, and staring down at the floor. He looked so much older. It wasn't so much his face, though she swore he'd gained a dozen wrinkles, but the eyes.

He'd aged a decade in a week.

Dawn was sitting next to Anya, Amy's cage between them, with Miss Kitty Fantastico on her lap. She was absently stroking the cat's back while the cat stared out the window with wide-eyed wonder.

The limousine turned and drove through a set of cast iron gates before it slowed to a stop. Giles started and looked around in confusion, as if he'd forgotten where he was. He finally looked out a window and smiled. "We're here," he said, his voice rough from disuse. It was the first words any of them had said since the funeral.

Since yesterday.

She hadn't said a word in a day.

If Xander was here...

If Xander...

Anya's left hand went to the ring again as Giles opened the door and got out to stretch his legs a bit before he went around the car and opened Anya's door. The driver was already there and waiting with her wheelchair. Between the two of them they managed to move her across without jostling her too much.

She heard Dawn climb out the other side and let out an awed gasp. "Damn, Giles..."

Anya turned. The house was impressive, two stories and late Victorian in design, unless she missed her guess. She'd seen more impressive homes in her day, but not many.

This certainly explained how Giles managed to go fifteen months without a job.

Giles didn't turn. In fact he had the same expression now that he'd gotten whenever Buffy offered - used to offer to make lemonade for the group. "Yes, home, sweet home."


	2. Chapter 1: Dead Things

CHAPTER ONE - DEAD THINGS  
  
BATH - ENGLAND  
  
Dawn lay on her side and watched the glowing green hands tick towards - well - dawn, which was still hours away.  
  
She was tired, but wasn't the least bit sleepy. So she stared at the fire- truck red clock. It was one of the three things she'd brought with her that wasn't clothes. Her mother had had the clock since she was a little girl, then Buffy had taken it for a few weeks, and now it was hers.  
  
She wondered who'd have it after her.  
  
The other two things were in the large frames she was carefully curled around under the thick covers. Photographs. She'd spent enough time staring at them that she didn't think she'd ever have to look at them again. The larger of the two was of everyone researching around the Magic Box table; with Willow and Tara to one side of the table and sitting so close together that they might as well have been in each other's laps, Anya actually sitting in Xander's lap on the other, and Buffy and Giles sitting in between the two couples.  
  
Sitting next to each other, no laps involved. Thank God.  
  
The other was of Buffy and Mom sitting under a Christmas tree. Mom was grinning and waving, her hair just starting to grow back after her surgery, while Buffy was mock glaring at the camera because she was still in pajamas and had the worst case of bed hair ever.  
  
Dawn rolled away from the photos, the clock, everything. The sudden move got her an annoyed meow from Miss Kitty, who'd been sleeping at her feet.  
  
And was soon asleep again.  
  
It didn't seem fair that cats got to skip out on the whole jet lag thing.  
  
Neither did mice, for that matter. She could hear the squeak of the wheel as it went around and around inside the little Habitrail that was set up on the other nightstand. It was too dark to see more than the dimmest outline of the cage, but she still stared at where she thought Amy was and wondered if the other girl could still think human thoughts or if she only had little mousy thoughts.  
  
Or did she think in some bizarre Mickey Mouse-like mash of the both? In which case, her and ducks were probably unmixy things.  
  
Either way; if she could think, did she realize that without Willow.  
  
Dawn rolled out of bed all together and let out a little noise when her feet hit the cold wood floor. Anya was right; England did only had two seasons; winter, and not quite winter.  
  
She came this close to ducking back under the nice warm quilts she had piled on her bed.  
  
And then Amy's wheel let out one extra loud squeak.  
  
The floor didn't seem quite so cold after that. She grabbed some of the cleaner clothes up off the floor - a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt with a white wolf's head outlined on the front that she'd only worn once this week - and skipped shoes and socks altogether. She was still buttoning the jeans as she hurried out of her room.  
  
And into a hallway that was longer than her house, pitch black, and unearthly quiet except for a ticking of a grandfather clock at the end of the hall next to the staircase. Dawn shivered and knew she was being stupid, but she swore that the ticking sounded just like high heels walking across old cement. All she needed was a couple of scabby demons holding her in place and she'd be back at the tower.  
  
She shivered again and hurried away from the clock, going deeper into the blackness that was the hallway.  
  
Which was also the direction to Giles' room. Two doors down and to the left, to be specific. It hadn't sounded very far when Giles had first told her on the plane, a fact that thrilled her to no end. But when she complained he just sort of almost laughed and sat back in his seat. In her defense, she didn't know that there was enough space between rooms that they could've landed the jet right there in the hallway and had room to spare.  
  
And that was how it looked during the day. At three in the morning.  
  
Giles' door was open, but she couldn't hear anything inside. She knocked and waited, but no one answered. So she slowly pushed the door open, ready to slam it shut if she saw him, and stuck her head in.  
  
The shades were still pulled back and that let in just enough moonlight to see that Giles was nowhere inside.  
  
Dawn opened the door a bit more to be sure, but - unless he was hiding in the closet - he wasn't there and hadn't been since that morning. Not unless he stopped and made the bed before he went wherever he was going.  
  
And God only knew where that could be. There were eight more rooms on this floor alone, most of which smelled worse than her grandmother's closet, and she didn't know where to start looking.  
  
Or why she wanted to find him to begin with.  
  
It wasn't like Giles had been around much in the past month. He'd usually show up, ask if she or Anya needed anything, and then vanish again.  
  
Toss in a dire warning or two and Angel would've been proud.  
  
She had thought Giles would be happy to be back in England, to be home. But he seemed even more out of sorts here than he had in Sunnydale. There, at least, he was verbal.  
  
Here, he was a ghost in his own home.  
  
Dawn realized she'd been dancing from one foot to the other and started walking again, this time back towards the clock. Standing still had never been her thing, now it almost hurt to be doing nothing.  
  
Because doing nothing gave her time to remember.  
  
She hurried back down the hall and all but ran past the clock and it's evil ticking. The stairs were even colder than the floor, but she barely noticed in her rush. She spared a glance to the living room, it wouldn't have been the first time she'd found Giles sound asleep on one of the thick chairs that were scattered around the room, but no go.  
  
She kept looking anyway, until her eyes came to rest on the massive painting over the fireplace. A fifteen by ten foot landscape painting of the White Cliffs of Dover that was beautiful even at night.  
  
It was just the kind of thing Mom would have swooped up for her gallery.  
  
Dawn almost turned to the kitchen before she decided she wasn't hungry in the least. And even if she was. Well, Anya had tried to clear the table after breakfast, but the plates had slipped off of her lap and badness resulted.  
  
Dawn had swept up as best she could, but she knew there was always one more piece just waiting for some dope with bare feet.  
  
Anya had taken it harder than she should have. It wasn't like they were the good plates - Dawn had the feeling Giles had made sure the good stuff was gone before he'd handed the place over to the Council - or really her fault.  
  
Well, everything but the glass Anya had flung at the wall after she'd dropped everything else. That one was her fault. Dawn would have said so, but she broke down right after and had been creepily quiet for the rest of the day.  
  
And considering that the ex-demon was the only other one around Dawn could not talk to that wasn't of the good. They spent a lot of time doing that, not talking. They didn't talk for most of the time they were together, which was pretty much always. Especially when she was helping Anya with the hundred and one things that were designed for people with two working arms and legs to do, like getting dressed, or getting in a tub, or even getting out of bed.  
  
Not that she minded doing any of it. Well, she minded, but so did Anya. Probably. Hopefully.  
  
Dawn scowled and shook the thought away. Unlike most, this one stayed that way.  
  
Mainly because she doubted that Anya even noticed. All she did was sit silently - a word she never would have thought she'd use to describe the ex- demon - and stare at things Dawn couldn't see.  
  
So she didn't mind - much - that she took care of Anya. If Giles had to do it, he'd probably faint and hit his head on something and she'd have to take care of both of them.  
  
Which she would have done, because she knew that it was all her.  
  
She shook her head and hurried down the other hallway, the one that lead to Anya's room, which used to be a den before Giles rented the house to the Council. They remodeled it into bed and bath just for this kind of thing, mainly because while the Watchers could find a Slayer half a world away, the concept of wheelchair access was apparently beyond them.  
  
All of which meant Anya had the floor to herself. Not that she was in any shape to enjoy it.  
  
There was a sliver of light shinning under the bottom of Anya's door, but that didn't mean anything. Anya slept with a sleep mask and left the lamp on. It wasn't exactly an easy reach, after all.  
  
This time Dawn didn't bother to knock before she opened the door. And not just because she'd seen way too much of Anya already, or because it wasn't like anyone in the house slept well as it was and she wasn't about to wake Anya up if the ex-demon was actually asleep.  
  
Either would have sounded good, heck, one was almost noble, but the real reason came down to one word. Fear. And not just because Anya had an arm when it came to pillows, which was amazing since she was right handed and that arm was both down and out.  
  
No, that she could deal with that, it was the cursing in ancient Scandinavian that was freaky. Dawn thought it was Scandinavian, anyway. What else would have that many references to Trolls?  
  
Dawn let out a justified sigh of relief when she opened the door and heard the soft wheeze that passed for snoring.  
  
Anya was stretched out across her bed and wearing one of Xander's shirts, if wearing was the right word. Living in might be better description. The thing could pass for a tent with a bit of work. It was certainly big enough; it stretched down to mid thigh and had a neck so big that it had slipped off of Anya's shoulder.  
  
The bright blue and yellow number was one of the many Cordelia had packed - many as in all except for the two she'd taken for herself - because it was a heck of a lot easier to slip Anya's bad arm through Xander's shirts than it would have been any of her normal blouses.  
  
Dawn tip toed over and straightened the covers that Anya had kicked down in the middle of the night. The arm and leg were bad enough; a cold would be pushing it. After that she stood there for a long moment, at a loss for anything else to do, before she sat down on the edge of the bed and watched Anya sleep.  
  
Or, more accurately, eyed the thin gold chain that Anya was wearing. Was always wearing, unless there was a chance that Dawn would see it. Then she'd hide it somewhere.  
  
Dawn had lost count of the times she'd seen Anya playing with whatever was hanging from the chain, and had just started to wonder what it was. Before she would have asked and asked and asked until Anya's showed her whatever it was just to shut her up.  
  
"In the before time," Dawn murmured to herself. "The long, long ago."  
  
Now, now she barely cared. Not that she didn't want to know.  
  
Still, it took her a while to actually do anything. A part of her said it wasn't her business, and another part said she probably didn't want to know. Especially considering the knickknack's Anya had probably collected over the centuries.  
  
If it was a dried finger. Not that Anya would keep fingers.  
  
That thought almost sent her from the room. But in the end she ignored both voices. She wouldn't be a Summers if she let a little thing like someone else's privacy or ickiness get the best of her. She carefully reached over and hooked the chain with her finger. She spent a long moment ready to run if Anya woke up, a wasted moment because Anya didn't even stop snoring.  
  
So Dawn started to gently pull on the chain and kept pulling until the thing at the end slipped free. It wasn't a finger, or the other thing.  
  
Either would have been easier to take.  
  
Dawn sat there and stared dumbly at the ring at the end of the chain. She knew what it was, of course. She remembered the time she and Buffy had tried on their mother's. She'd been barely seven at the time, and the ring had just slipped off her finger and hit the ground with a thump.  
  
Buffy had yelled at her then, afraid that her clumsy sister had somehow broken the ring. She wished Buffy were here to yell at her now.  
  
It was an engagement ring. Xander and Anya had been engaged. They'd been happy, and in love, and were going to get married.  
  
Then she came along and ruined everything.  
  
She left just as quietly as she'd come in, with Anya still wheezing away. She closed the door and ran down the hallway to the library. The room was massive and filled with books on demons, spells, history, and, of course, classic literature. Though it was a bit disconcerting making the jump from stories about 19th century orphanages to the mating habits of Hybralli demons, or - even better - trying to translate a book written in Sumerian.  
  
All of which made it the perfect place to hide whenever she couldn't eat, sleep, or find anything good to watch on the television.  
  
Or spend one more minute inside her own head.  
  
Willow would have loved the place; it was almost as good as the old high school library. Not that she was really ever there enough to judge.  
  
No, she'd never been there. She was a glowy ball of energy and everyone else was..  
  
Dawn hurried, desperate to outrun her thoughts. She walked passed the billiards room, one of the few rooms she'd never gone in to. She would've, but she'd been afraid to look inside. Afraid that if she squinted and turned her head just right, she'd see Xander and Spike standing around the table, pool cues in hand, and snarking at each other.  
  
She looked now. The room was empty.  
  
They should have been there. They all should have. Buffy, Willow and Tara should have been there, helping Xander and Anya plan their wedding and joking about ugly bridesmaid dressed while Mom.  
  
Dawn blinked away tears as she opened the door to the library and all but fell into the room. To her surprise, the fireplace in the far wall was already burning. She turned and let out a surprised gasp.  
  
She'd found Giles.  
  
He was sitting in one of the thick chairs. His eyes were shut, his chin was on his chest, and his face pale except for the dark, three-day-old stubble that was fast becoming a beard.  
  
He looked like a corpse in the flickering light.  
  
She would know, she'd seen enough of them lately. She stumbled over, ignoring the tears that were now flowing down her cheeks. She could hear him snoring softly as she got closer, but that wasn't enough.  
  
She wasn't, couldn't be sure. She knew it wouldn't seem real until she touched him.  
  
She stumbled over a bottle she hadn't seen before, the glass rolling with a clatter across the wood floor until it hit the chair. She let out a yelp of fright as he sat straight up in the chair and his bloodshot eyes saw everything before they finally settled on her.  
  
"Dawn?" He asked, her name slurring a bit in his mouth.  
  
"Yeah," she said, one hand on her heart as she reached over with the other and poked his. She felt the warm skin of his hand and let out the breath she'd been holding.  
  
"Why are you still up?" He stuttered as he blinked a thousand times a second and stared down at her hand.  
  
"I - I was checking on Anya. And you. Do you need anything?"  
  
Giles grinned at that and started chuckling. A chuckle that kept going on and on until tears started falling. "Do you know what I need?" He waited for Dawn to shake her head before going on. "I need someone to take back the last bloody year. Or get me another Scotch, I seem to have run out," he added as he hefted the empty bottle.  
  
Dawn felt like she'd been punched. "Does it help?" She asked, her voice a strangled whisper as she stared at the bottle.  
  
The grin left Giles's face. "Only for a moment."  
  
"A whole moment?"  
  
"Sometimes not even," Giles admitted before he shook his head and dropped the bottle. It hit the ground with a bang that made Dawn jump, but the bottle somehow didn't break. "Go 'way," he muttered and shifted in the chair. "'M tired, lemme alone." He closed his eyes and started snoring again.  
  
Dawn's eyes spilled from him to the empty bottle. A whole moment.  
  
A whole moment when she didn't feel Buffy standing behind her shoulder, didn't have to watch out for ghosts.  
  
A whole moment that she didn't have to worry about Anya or Giles or Amy or how she could possibly make up for.  
  
"It's all my fault."  
  
She wanted to pull the words back as soon as they'd left her mouth. She'd thought it before, had been thinking it ever since she'd found out what she was.  
  
'Has your mother been exposed to any high voltage lines?'  
  
.but this was the first time she'd said it out loud. If the monks had sent her somewhere else, made her into something else, then none of the last year would have happened.  
  
Maybe Xander and Anya would be planning their wedding right now, with Buffy and Willow and Tara and her Mom all helping.  
  
Her eyes went back to Giles, did he know? Is that why he spent so much time avoiding her? And what about Anya?  
  
She wished she could make things better. Everything that had happened was her fault; she should be able to fix it. She just wanted the pain to go away.  
  
Which sparked a memory, and then a notion, and then a plan.  
  
It took her a half hour to find the book. She'd read so many that they'd all blended together, and it wasn't like she'd been all that careful putting them back in the right spot.  
  
The book was plain, with a faded leather cover and the words inside weren't even embossed or written in blood or anything the slightest bit cool. No, it was just ordinary ink and a few pictures that didn't look like much at all.  
  
Despite all of that, it was still the kind of book that would've been ripped out of her hands a few weeks ago.  
  
She froze before she opened it, half expecting Giles to charge up and do just that, but the snoring behind her never stopped. So she opened the book and read the ingredients list before she marked the page and closed the book again. The spell called for exactly two objects.  
  
It took her another ten minutes to find them both.  
  
Giles had one in his room, a white crystal that he'd been using as a paperweight. The flowers were a little harder, only because there were a dozen flowerbeds scattered around the mansion, all the size of small houses, and she'd pushed Anya around them all so many times that they'd blended together.  
  
She scooped up the book and brought everything over to the still lit fireplace. There wasn't any hesitation as she tossed all six of the flowers into the fire, the soft while petals smelled like vanilla as they burned.  
  
She opened the book and started reading. "For Giles and Anya and I this I char, let Lethe's Bramble do its chore. Purge our minds of memories grim, of pains from recent slights and sins..."  
  
She picked up the pure white crystal and touched it to a burning flowers and watched as the crystal turned gray. "When the fire goes out. When the crystal turns black. The spell will be cast. Tabula rasa. Tabula rasa. Tabula rasa."  
  
With that done she lay down and curled up against the cold stone hearth so she could watch the fire burn everything away.  
  
'You're my little pumpkin belly'  
  
'Niblet'  
  
'You're so pretty, all green and sparkly'  
  
'We're going to take candy from. Some guy, I don't know his name'  
  
'They're just doing some Scooby stuff'  
  
'I love you, Dawn, never forget that' 


	3. Chapter 2: Tabla Rasa

CHAPTER TWO: TABLA RASA  
  
She watched the door open and wished she hadn't screamed.  
  
Or, if she absolutely had to, she should have made it a respectable scream and not the embarrassingly high-pitched shriek that was still echoing in her ears.  
  
Hers and everyone else's for at least a mile. Including those of whoever was walking through the door right now.  
  
The clock left her hand before she realized she'd thrown it.  
  
It was a pretty walnut and brass clock that was barely fit in her hand and was every bit as heavy as it looked. She'd grabbed it off the nightstand because that was the closest thing to a weapon in the room that she could actually reach. She would've preferred the even more impressive brass lamp that had been sitting next to the clock, but it was just out of reach.  
  
A lot of things were just out of reach since her right leg was in a cast and her right arm was pinned to her stomach by some kind of fabric sling thingee.  
  
Everything froze as she watched the clock float through the air, racing the door that was opening just as slowly. It was halfway through the flight when she realized she didn't know who was on the other side of the door and felt her stomach tighten with guilt.  
  
She'd never meant to actually throw the clock. It had seemed like a good idea to have something throwable when she woke up in a room she'd never been in before and in her condition - which was what had forced that awful shriek out of her - but she'd never meant to actually use it.  
  
Which she believed right up to the moment the door opened.  
  
The she was glad she did.  
  
Because the door opened just enough for her to see the man on the other side and fear washed away all guilt. He had a week's worth of greasy stubble on his chin and looked like he hadn't changed or seen the inside of a shower in at least as long. He was a thug of a man.  
  
A thug.  
  
Her stomach dropped to her knees. She'd been kidnapped. He'd come and taken her from her home and.  
  
Her eyes darted down to her arm and leg and back up to his as she tried to wrap her mind around what he must've done to her but couldn't.  
  
He looked right at her and she realized how little the extra large t-shirt she was wearing actually covered, but before she could make a desperate grab for the blankets his gaze scurried up and finally spotted the clock that was flying at his face.  
  
His eyes widened enough for her to see how bloodshot they were as he slammed the door shut again just as the timepiece crashed into it. She heard the glass face shatter, but otherwise the clock stayed in one piece as it dropped to the floor.  
  
She felt almost giddy as she watched it fall and wished he'd been two seconds slower so she could have seen if he would've come out so well.  
  
Then the door started to open again.  
  
Any thought of covering herself vanished as she tried to push herself away from him, but she was already pressed against the headboard. That was when she remembered the lamp, which had seemed so far away before. Now, though.  
  
She leaned over and stretched her arm out. Her fingertips brushed against the cool metal base of the lamp, but she couldn't get a grip. She dragged herself over a few inches, the plaster an anchor against the smooth sheets, and tried again. She felt her finger catch and tried to yank it back, but her grip slipped again.  
  
She wanted to scream, to curse, but she couldn't get her voice to work. Instead she felt tears start running down her cheeks as her breath came in little gasps. She knew she could've reached it with her right arm. All she had to do was roll over some and.  
  
The man shoved the door open again and she saw him rush across the room from out of the corner of her eye.  
  
She yanked herself over another couple inches and threw her arm out. If the sudden move hurt her other arm or leg, she never noticed. Everything she had was focused on the lamp.  
  
Her fingers caught the base again and she knew she had it.  
  
And then the man's hand wrapped around her forearm. He pulled her hand away from the lamp and her arm down to the mattress. "Bloody hell!" He shouted into her face, gagging her with the stale Scotch on his breath. "What's the matter with you, you stupid."  
  
A knee to the stomach cut off whatever his last word was going to be. And that was something she actually felt bad about.  
  
She'd been aiming lower.  
  
She yanked her arm back in a desperate attempt to pull her hand free, but his grip was too strong. If anything, it tightened as a fiery anger appeared in his eyes.  
  
That was when she finally panicked. She was vaguely aware that she was probably hurting herself more than him, he was too close for another good kneeing, but it didn't matter. She just had to get away before.  
  
His free hand closed around her right shoulder and she let out a gasp that was more alarmed than pained and he froze, his eyes wide and face went beyond pale, almost as if he hadn't seen the sling before now.  
  
"Stop it! You're going to hurt her!"  
  
She jumped a little as the - thankfully - female voice ended the stalemate. The man yanked his hand away from her shoulder and had the grace to look sorry that he'd hurt her.  
  
Which was a little late in her opinion. Maybe if he'd stopped short of actually breaking her leg his being sorry might have meant something, but now.  
  
At least she wasn't alone with him. It was a relief that lasted right up until she saw the woman who'd stopped him. She was a girl, really. A scrawny girl with long brown hair that barely looked fifteen and appeared far too terrified to be of any real help.  
  
She glared at the man and felt the sudden need to hit him with something heavy.  
  
"Her!" The man snapped without turning back. "I'm the one who almost got my skull smashed in!" He focused on her again. "Now. What's you're problem?"  
  
"I've been kidnapped for starters," she said, her voice calm even as her heart pounded its way into her throat, "and given very little to wear by a man who smells like the innards of a winery and is leading around a scared but still pretty girl who is far too young for whatever sick games you have in mind."  
  
The girl looked confused by that, and so did the man. At least at first...  
  
Then he glanced down and seemed to suddenly realize just how little she was wearing. He immediately let go and backed away to the foot of the bed as his face went a shade of red that was all the more impressive considering how pale he'd been a moment before. "I. I would never."  
  
Considering what he'd no doubt been planning to do, she was surprised that seeing her underwear would upset him so much. Unless. She let out a relieved sigh. "Oh, good. You're gay. If I'd realized that sooner." Still, to be on the safe side, she yanked the hem of her t-shirt - which had bunched up around her waist in the brief fight - back down around her thighs and pulled the nearest blanket up to cover her legs.  
  
"I am not!" The man shouted, and then looked a little confused. "At least, I don't believe so."  
  
"Really?" She couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. "That's interesting. Maybe you should've figured that bit out before you started kidnapping people."  
  
"I didn't."  
  
She hmphed in disbelief at that. "The girl appears to be the type your kind likes - all she needs is a cheerleader's outfit - and I'm sure I'm extremely attractive. Or, at least I would be without all this ridiculous medical equipment."  
  
"There's absolutely no way out of this for me, is there?" The man asked, more than a little disturbed.  
  
Good.  
  
And then the girl jumped in. "He didn't kidnap me. There wasn't anything keeping me here."  
  
That statement may have earned the girl a gratified smile from the man, but it was the exact last thing she wanted to hear. "You mean you're in on this together?" She asked as she glanced back at the lamp.  
  
"No!" The girl shouted, her hands held up in front of her as she took a half step back. She looked like she wanted to bolt out of the room altogether, but she didn't. "I just don't think he kidnapped us."  
  
She had to admit that he didn't take advantage when he could have, and he seemed a little too squeamish to be a vicious kidnapper. "Then how did we get here?"  
  
"That," the man said with a relieved sigh, "is a very good question. We can't remember."  
  
"Right. You just happen to show up at the door of my room and have no idea how you got there."  
  
"On a chair in the library, actually. That's where I woke up."  
  
"Floor of the library," the girl said and added, "and not like that," in a rush. "I was on the other side of the room."  
  
She stared at the two of them and had to admit that they seemed likely they were telling the truth. If they weren't, they could probably come up with better lies. "All right. So you two have amnesia."  
  
"Three, I believe," the man interrupted. "From what you've said, you don't seem to remember how you got here either. What do you remember?"  
  
"I remember lots of things."  
  
"Indeed? Do you know where you were yesterday? Or the day before? Or even your own bloody name?"  
  
She thought back and sighed, depressed that her first memory seemed to be that hideously high-pitched shriek. "No."  
  
The man smirked, basking in his victory.  
  
Which was annoying to no end. She pushed herself up on the bed and glared back at him. Not for any special reason, but just so he'd know he hadn't won yet.  
  
The staring contest went on for quite a while, before the girl broke in. "Shouldn't we be doing something? You know, about us not knowing anything."  
  
The man's face twisted and he finally looked away. "Right. I already checked, but I don't have a wallet on me. Do you." A snort stopped him in mid-question. "Right. What about you?" He asked and looked over his shoulder.  
  
The girl patted the pockets of her jeans and shook her head. "No."  
  
"Blast," the man muttered as he turned back. "Perhaps." he began, only to have the sentence die off as he stared at her.  
  
Or, more accurately, down at her chest.  
  
"What's this?" He asked as his hand darted out and grabbed at something.  
  
She froze for a half second, thinking that everything that had happened had been some kind of bizarre game when she felt something tug at the back of her neck. She looked down and was surprised to see a thin gold strand of a necklace between his fingers. She hadn't even realized she'd been wearing one. Which was odd, considering the hard lump of metal she could feel dragging up against the skin between her breasts as he pulled whatever was on the end of the strand out from under her shirt.  
  
And when the engagement ring slipped free she zoomed right passed surprise to open mouth-stunned silence.  
  
A silence that the girl broke. "You two must be engaged!" The girl squealed happily as she rushed up for a closer look. Then her eyes lit up. "And we're sisters! This is you're house and you two invited me to live with you to help with the wedding. And. the rest." She glanced at the cast and the sling.  
  
She met the man's eyes and stared into them. She waited for a spark. Instead she got the giggles.  
  
Giggles that died a horrible death when the man snorted and muttered, "I bloody well doubt it."  
  
She tried to cross her arm across her chest. "That seems uncalled for. You're no spring chicken, you know. I could do much better."  
  
"And I couldn't? You must be one of the most infuriating women."  
  
"Me? You're the one bursting into stranger's bedrooms!"  
  
"I heard a shriek!"  
  
"I could have been shrieking about any number of things! Some of which I wouldn't want an audience for! Probably."  
  
"No wonder I lost my memory! I no doubt had to repress whatever time I've spent with you!"  
  
"Stop it!" The girl shouted. "God, act your ages. And don't yell at my sister."  
  
The man reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. After he calmed a bit he pressed on. "Besides which, if we were engaged why would you be wearing the ring on a chain around your neck?"  
  
"I. I don't know. Why would I be?"  
  
"It's generally not considered a good sign."  
  
She didn't have an answer for that, but wasn't surprised when she heard the girl snap her fingers.  
  
"Maybe whoever you were engaged to left you, dumped you at the altar." The girl pointed at the man, "He's our father and we brought you here because you were so depressed you wandered out into a street and." She stopped, crossed her arms and scowled as she finally noticed the awed and more than a little scared stares that were aimed at her. "Or maybe bunnies came in and hopped really hard on our heads. At least I'm trying."  
  
She shuddered at the thought of those rodents bouncing anywhere near her head. "I don't think he's our father. He has an accent. We don't."  
  
"I would've put that the other way around."  
  
"Fine, uncle then. This isn't as easy as it looks, you know," the girl grumbled.  
  
She looked back at the man again, and this time neither flinched away.  
  
"All right. We're family until something says we're not." He waited for her to disagree, and looked more than a little surprised when she didn't.  
  
She was more than a little surprised she didn't, too, but she had to admit that it was possible. Still, he didn't have to look SO shocked.  
  
"Now, all we have to do is find something with our names on it." He looked over the room before getting up and going over to the dresser that was to the right of the door. "Do you mind?"  
  
"Not as long as you put everything back."  
  
The man stopped, his hand frozen on the handle of the to drawer, and then turned to the girl. "Maybe you should."  
  
"Good idea," the girl agreed. She dug through the drawers one by one, blushing only a little at the underwear drawer, before she found something useful.  
  
A passport.  
  
The girl rushed over and all but shoved it into her hands. The blue plastic cover was surprisingly cool in her hands as she opened it. The picture on the inside front cover was definitely her and appeared to be recent, unless she injured her arm often.  
  
Her eyes went to her face and were glad that she'd been right. She was very good looking. At least she would be, except for the puffy bags under her bloodshot eyes and dull, lifeless hair. She somehow doubted that that was what pictures were supposed to look like.  
  
She finally tore her eyes off her depressing photograph and started reading the information printed below it out loud. "It says my name is Anya Jenkins, I live in some place called Sunnydale, California in the United States of America, and I was born on the Fourth of July," she scowled. "I must've been mocked mercilessly for that as a child."  
  
"Jenkins," the girl repeated the name with a small smile. "I wonder what my first name is? I hope it's not something stupid."  
  
"Considering you're from California, heaven only knows. Though I doubt I would've let my brother or sister name you anything too atrocious," the man tried to assure her as he glanced at the door. "We might as well find out."  
  
"Yeah," the girl said and took an excited step to the door before forcing herself to stop and look back. "Do you want.?"  
  
"I'm curious, too," she. Anya. What an odd sounding name, said as she pulled herself to the edge of the bed, where a wheelchair sat waiting. She'd noticed it before, but was a little too scared out of her mind to pay much attention to it.  
  
"What about?" The girl asked and gestured at her.  
  
Anya glared at the man who might or might not be her uncle for a long moment before she shrugged and pushed off the covers. "You've both probably seen this much anyway, since I doubt I can dress myself right now. Now, help me into the wheelchair."  
  
"I'll do it," the man offered, but he didn't move until she nodded her approval. Not that she was all that thrilled at having him touch her yet, but she doubted that the girl - that her sister could pick her up. He stuck an arm under her knees and wrapped another one around her good shoulder and carefully carried her over to the wheelchair.  
  
"Now can we go?" The girl asked, all but dancing from foot to foot in her hurry.  
  
The man sighed and nodded. "Yes."  
  
With that the girl let out a little yip and was gone.  
  
"She's dangerously caffinated," Anya said.  
  
The man chuckled as he started pushing her to the door. "Indeed."  
  
"Wait!" Anya said as she reached up, pulled off the necklace and tossed it into the small trashcan by the door all in one smooth notion. At first she'd been a little worried she'd have to somehow unclasp the necklace, but the chain was long enough to slip over her head. "Okay, let's go."  
  
She could almost feel the scowl on the man behind her, but he didn't say a word as he started pushing again.  
  
Thank God.  
  
Her sister was probably right. He, whoever he was, had taken off. Left her. The her in the picture in the passport was hardly the image of sunshine and puppies. Maybe she was better off not knowing.  
  
"There's one good thing about having a hyper-active teenager in the house," the man observed, no doubt to get her mind off of whatever she was thinking, "we don't have to waste those precious seconds it takes to open a door."  
  
She glanced up, only to have the glance turn into a leer as she actually saw the house they were in for the first time. Her room had been.. Well, empty for the most part, but out here.  
  
The house itself was a work of art, with lightly stained oak walls and massive windows every dozen feet. And then there was the actual artwork. Vases, tapestries, and paintings were everywhere.  
  
"It's like a museum," she said in an awed whisper.  
  
"Mausoleum's more like it," the man said with a snort. "And owned by a pratt, no doubt, who has his nose buried so far up someone else's arse that he can't see the end of it anymore."  
  
The girl rolled her eyes. "There are worse places to wake up in."  
  
"I suppose," he said, begrudging the end of the argument. He walked in a sullen silence as they entered the living room. "Bloody hell," he muttered when he saw the massive painting of a cliff that took up most of one wall. "Pr."  
  
Fortunately the girl came running back before the argument could restart. Unfortunately she had what looked like a donut in her hand. "I found the kitchen," she said and gestured down the other hallway with the half-eaten desert, "but I didn't see any more bedrooms."  
  
"They're probably on the second floor," the man said, "or the third." He paused. "Pratts."  
  
"Stairs?" Anya asked and glanced down at her leg and then at the staircase.  
  
"No," the man said, clearly knowing what was coming and trying to hold it off. Not that it worked. Anya turned as much as she could and joined the girl in giving him puppy dog eyes. He held out for a whole five seconds before he gave in. "Fine. If you'll get the wheelchair."  
  
With that he moved around and picked Anya up again while the girl finished the donut and rushed over to fold up the wheelchair and follow them up the stairs.  
  
"You're in very good shape for a man who is as old as you are," Anya observed.  
  
"Be sure to tell the paramedics that," the man said, huffing just a little bit.  
  
She did her best to ignore that, just like she did the happy sound he made when he all but dropped her back into the wheelchair again. "Second floor. Bed, bath and back braces."  
  
Stupid cast.  
  
Stupider man.  
  
"This might take awhile," the girl said, breaking Anya's line of thought.  
  
The floor was one long hallway with what looked like a couple dozen doors, all closed.  
  
All but one, three rooms down, and that was the one they went to first. Not that it looked like much when they went inside. The room was clean, so clean that at first they didn't think anyone lived in it. Anya almost suggested trying one of the other doors when the girl found clothes in the dressers. After that it was a matter of digging.  
  
"Rupert Giles?" The man said. His face twisted with distaste as he looked at the passport, which had a red cover for some odd reason. "What kind of name is Rupert?"  
  
"Maybe you're parents didn't like you," Anya offered. It was the most reasonable explanation.  
  
"Hated is more like it," he shook his head and dropped the passport on the dresser top, "Rupert."  
  
"California doesn't look so bad now, does it?" the girl asked.  
  
Rupert snorted. "I wouldn't say that. Not yet."  
  
"At least you know you're name," the girl said, her face dark.  
  
Rupert opened his mouth, no doubt to complain some more, but caught himself in time. He waved to the door. "One of the other rooms has to be yours."  
  
"There's always Rupes. Or Rupey," Anya said as the girl who may or may not be her sister ran from the room again.  
  
"Rupert will suffice."  
  
"Or Rup. Though that does sound a lot like rump. I know, Rumpy Rupey. You do have a nice rump."  
  
He started to look, caught himself, and scowled at her. "Do shut up."  
  
"Or."  
  
"Now I know we're family," he said from seemingly out of nowhere as he dropped his passport on the bed, "who else would stand for this?"  
  
"I was going to suggest Uncle Rupert," Anya said with an annoyed humph.  
  
"Really?" He smiled, which made him look much less threatening. "It does have a ring."  
  
"I thought so." There was a sudden high-pitched scream ahead of them as the girl ducked into a room. "I assume embarrassingly high pitched screaming is a family trait?"  
  
"Not on my side, I assure you," Rupert said as he retook his spot behind the wheelchair. "My scream is far more manly."  
  
"Well, I would hope so."  
  
"Shall we see what she's found?" Rupert asked, trying to sound nonchalant.  
  
"Might as well," Anya answered, sounding every bit as bored even as the corners of her mouth curled up. She hoped that their little theory was right. Hyperness aside, she did like the girl.  
  
Almost as much as she liked the idea of having a sister.  
  
It took them a few moments to find the right room, half of the doors were tossed open now, but only one had a light on. Anya was leaning forward in her chair as Rupert pushed her in, but - despite the fact that the girl had a now familiar passport packet in her hand - she was distracted by a small cat that jumped in her lap and started rubbing against her sling.  
  
She came this close to fore she petted the demanding creature behind the ears. "We have an animal?"  
  
"Pet, I believe they're called," Rupert said and pointed to the elaborate plastic enclosure on a nightstand, "and more than one."  
  
"I wonder what their names are?" Rupert cleared his throat to remind her of why they were there. "Or yours? Did you find it yet?"  
  
"It's Dawn," the girl said. Her eyes were on the passport, but she didn't seem to actually be reading anything on it. Anya was just about to ask what was wrong when Dawn closed the passport with a snap. "Dawn Jenkins."  
  
"So you were right," Anya said, feeling very pleased for some reason.  
  
"Looks like," Dawn said and grinned. "So, cookie for me."  
  
"Ooo, cookies and milk. There are worst first memories," Anya said.  
  
"Yes," Rupert said. "But after that I want to find out what happened to us."  
  
"How? Check all the doors and windows for bunny prints?" Dawn asked.  
  
"I'm a hare's breath away from that," Rupert admitted and paused. If he was waiting for a laugh, he would have to wait a very long time. To his credit, he picked up on that fact and continued, "but I believe visiting a hospital would be more fruitful."  
  
"Then a sugar rush is definitely in order," Dawn said.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"And a shower?" Anya said.  
  
"Maybe even a shave," Dawn added.  
  
"Of cou." Rupert snapped his mouth shut and glared at the two of them.  
  
A glare neither noticed, they were laughing far too hard to pay any attention.  
  
- - -  
  
"This isn't going well."  
  
"No."  
  
"How much more blood do you think he wants?"  
  
"A vampire like him? Who knows?"  
  
Dawn reached over and picked up the queen and slid the piece over a half- dozen squares. "We should move her here."  
  
"Yes, if we want her to be decapitated," Anya said and gestured with her chocolate ice crème filled spoon at the waiting black knight before she stuck the spoon in her mouth.  
  
"We have to do something," Dawn said, but she put the piece back anyway, "we're running out of people."  
  
Which was true. At the moment there were a depressing number of white pieces in the box on the other side of the board. "Well, what about the bishop?"  
  
"What about the bishop?"  
  
"Well, he can't do anything," Anya stated, "so it wouldn't be any loss."  
  
"If you hadn't thrown away our knight."  
  
"He did take down the black queen so I wouldn't." Anya paused to glared over at Rupert, who sitting across the board from them in rather comfortable looking chair and watching the large television on the other side of the room. "You aren't listening, are you?"  
  
"I wouldn't dream of it," Rupert assured them.  
  
"Good," Anya said. She glanced down to see if there was any more ice crème left, but wasn't all that disappointed when she saw there wasn't. She dropped the spoon in the now empty carton that was resting between her and Dawn and reached over to grab a pawn.  
  
"I don't see much need." He glanced over and there was just enough of a twinkle in his eyes to stop her from tossing pieces at him.  
  
"Bad," Dawn said and shook her head at Anya's move as she absently reached up and scratched at the three band-aids that lined her upper arm.  
  
Anya watched and fought down a whimper because her arm started itching too in the exact same spot. The band-aids and the needle pricks they covered were the only thing they got for the eight hours they wasted at the hospital. She would've thought that one would have been enough, but apparently doctors couldn't control themselves when it came to taking blood. Sure, they SAID that they were going run tests, but she just knew that all they wanted was an excuse to use someone as a pincushion.  
  
Maybe the itching would stop if she gnawed her arm off.  
  
She felt fingers scratching at the band aids though her blouse and let out a little sigh of relief.  
  
"You looked like you needed that," Dawn said. "Better?"  
  
Anya could only nod. Now, if they could do something about that spot behind her right knee.  
  
"When's this Blake fellow going to show up?" Giles snapped loud enough to make the two girls jump in their chairs. "It's supposed to be his bloody show!"  
  
"Don't yell at the television," Dawn said with a shake of her finger.  
  
"Why not? Useless contraption," Giles asked as he switched the television off, put down the remote, and turned back to the game. "Now, where were we?"  
  
"In the middle of losing," Dawn said darkly.  
  
"Nonsense," Rupert said with a patient smile. "You're both doing much better."  
  
Anya shook her head in frustration. "At least someone thinks so."  
  
Giles raised an eyebrow. "Considering our first few matches." He let the sentence end there, leaving the words 'bloody massacre' unsaid. "And the fact that you're still learning the rules."  
  
"Rules that you know," Dawn said, sounding more annoyed than frustrated. She frowned and stared out Rupert. "Know how, by the way?'  
  
"I - I'm not sure," Rupert admitted. "The same way I remembered how to drive I car, I suppose."  
  
"But you drove on the wrong SIDE," Dawn said. Anya shuddered at the memory of honking horns and screeching brakes. Dawn pressed on, "so we should be winning right now."  
  
"I don't believe it works that way," Giles said.  
  
Anya scowled. "The doctor should have known. We should find a competent one next time."  
  
"That's not exactly fair, Anya," Giles said. "He did the best he could considering their resources. We're just going to have to wait for the neurologist they recommended to have an opening."  
  
"Speaking of openings," Dawn said and reached over for the queen and used it to take one of the black rooks.  
  
Rupert nodded. "Very good." He moved his bishop, and Anya promptly took it with the bishop she'd been mocking before.  
  
"Check," Dawn and Anya said together, both with wide grins. It was their first check since they'd started playing six games ago.  
  
"Indeed," Rupert said with another nod. He moved his other rook forward and took the bishop. "Checkmate."  
  
They studied the board for a moment before Dawn turned and gave Anya a soft smack on the arm. Anya turned and nailed her with a glare, but that was as far as the fight had gotten when Rupert cleared his throat.  
  
"None of that," Rupert said as he reached over and started gathering his pieces. "As I said, you two have gotten much better. Shall we play again?"  
  
Anya yawned in reply, a yawn Dawn soon mirrored. It wasn't that she didn't want to play again, but it'd been late when they'd gotten home and was even later now. "Tomorrow?"  
  
Giles glanced at the clock and his eyes widened a bit in shock when he saw the time. "Of course. Do you need any.?" His voice died out as he waved in Anya's direction.  
  
"I just need to brush my teeth and get changed," Anya said, more than a little wary. He did seem to be a nice enough man, but still.  
  
She glanced at Dawn, who'd helped her get dressed for the trip to the hospital and that was what made her nod. "But I suppose I could use some help, if you wouldn't mind?"  
  
If he noticed how overly cheerful she sounded at the end, he gave no sign. Instead Rupert smiled and stood. "Of course. Dawn, could you clean up?" He asked and gestured to the floor around them. Besides the ice creme carton there was the mess from their dinner: paper bags, hamburger and fries containers and small plastic ketchup packets that were scatted everywhere, all covered with golden M's.  
  
Anya rubbed her stomach as she realized that the carton of ice creme she'd split with Dawn might have been a bit much after a double cheeseburger and fries. But it wasn't her fault that she couldn't seem to get full, not matter how much she'd eaten. Her only comfort was that Giles and Dawn proved to be every bit the pig she was.  
  
She'd almost think they hadn't eaten in a month.  
  
Dawn sighed as she bent down and started picking everything up. "Sure, sure. Leave me the dirty work."  
  
"'Onward Christian Soldier,'" Rupert sang. He caught the wadded up and greasy paper bag that Dawn threw at his head and tossed it right back. Dawn let out an outraged squeal as the bag bounced off the top of her head, but before she could retaliate he grabbed the handles of Anya's wheelchair and all but ran out of the room to Anya's bedroom and attached bath.  
  
Which was when Anya's stomach tightened.  
  
She watched him the whole time and waited for him to do something - a touch, a leer, but he never did. Not that she wanted him to, but she had to know if he could be trusted around her sister.  
  
But he never did a thing. Not when he put toothpaste on her toothbrush and soaped up a washcloth for her face. Not even when he was helping her change for bed. Instead he yammered on the whole time and kept his eyes on hers as he took off her skirt and blouse and helped her pull on another of the huge t-shirts.  
  
It was all very confusing.  
  
"Is there anything else?" Rupert asked after he finished arranging the pile of pillows for her to lie on.  
  
"No."  
  
"Then good night, Anya." With that he turned to the door.  
  
"Good night, Uncle Rupert," Anya called after him. She could have left it there, but she heard an annoying something in the back of her head that made her say, "I'm sorry I threw a clock at you."  
  
"No need," Rupert said with a chuckle, "in your place I would've done the same."  
  
Anya watched him close the door and wiggled into the pillows that were piled up under her back. She'd wondered why she'd been sleeping on so many when she woke up that morning and found out when she lied down before.  
  
The ache in her shoulder was more annoying than painful, but still.  
  
She pulled up the thick covers and let the sleepy warmth that came from a full stomach was over her. "A much better night than morning," she finally decided as she closed her eyes.  
  
Then she heard a soft knock on the door. For a moment she thought about ignoring it, or letting out a low curse, but she was in too good a mood for either. "Come in."  
  
"I didn't wake you up, did I?" Dawn asked as she walked in. She'd finally changed out of the jeans and t-shirt she'd worn all day, into a pair of powder blue pajamas.  
  
"If you'd waited another few minutes." Anya said. She shrugged off the annoyance and pushed herself back up. "No. What did you want?"  
  
Dawn fidgeted for a moment before she rushed over and shoved a picture in Anya's hands as she explained in a rush, "I found something. Somethings, actually. They were hidden under the covers of my bed."  
  
Anya stared at the photograph. It looked like it'd been taken in a shop of some kind. Some cheap tourist trap, judging by the strange things she saw on the shelves in the background. There were six people around the table, but only two she recognized. Uncle Rupert and herself. And she looked much more pleasing in this picture than in the one in her passport.  
  
Not that she did more than glance at herself.  
  
"At least he was good looking," Dawn offered as they both stared at the man whose lap Anya was sitting in.  
  
"Yes," Anya said as her eyes traced the young man's face. He was handsome, in a goofy kind of way. And he didn't have the appearance of someone who'd hurt his wife, or fiancée. Not that looks meant anything, but she didn't look the least bit afraid of him in the picture.  
  
Or broken, like the photograph in her passport.  
  
They both looked happy. She ran her fingers over the glass that covered his face, hoping for a flash of memory, a bit of his voice, but nothing came.  
  
Her eyes darted to the wastebasket, all she had of him...  
  
No. "He still left," she whispered.  
  
"I just thought you'd like to see his face," Dawn said, her voice flat. As if she couldn't decide whether or not she should say she was sorry.  
  
Anya wrapped her arm around Dawn and hugged her sister close. "Thank you."  
  
Dawn grinned and rested her head on Anya's shoulder. "So who do you think the blond girl is?"  
  
Anya looked down. The blond girl wasn't sitting on Rupert's lap, but they were much too close together to just be reading a book together. "Uncle Rupert's midlife crisis, no doubt."  
  
"I don't know. There was another picture with this one of her and an older lady. Maybe she's a cousin?"  
  
Anya sighed. "That's much less interesting." She pointed at the red head and blond girl on the other end of the picture. "Do you think they're family, too?"  
  
"If they are, I hope they call soon."  
  
"Yes." Anya yawned and watched as Dawn followed suit a moment later. "Is there anything else?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good," Anya said and handed the picture back after one last long look at the man. Then she shifted away from Dawn, laid back on her pillows, and closed her eyes. "Goodnight."  
  
"Goodnight," Dawn said as she put the photograph down on the nightstand, but besides that she didn't move.  
  
Anya waited until it became clear that her sister wasn't going anywhere and opened her eyes. "What?"  
  
Dawn hugged her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees as she looked around the dark room. "I don't like this house."  
  
Anya grinned a little. "I do. It has character."  
  
"It has a lot of expensive junk."  
  
"Yes," Anya almost purred at that.  
  
"Is there going to be a drool issue?"  
  
"It seems likely."  
  
Dawn smiled a little before her eyes started going around the room again. "Everything smells like old people upstairs, not to mention the creepy as hell factor andcanIstayinherewithyou?" The last was said in a breathless blur of words and accompanied by the biggest set of puppy dog eyes that Dawn could muster.  
  
She could see why Rupert caved so often when Dawn used those eyes on him, but she wasn't about to give in.  
  
And that was the moment Dawn started pouting.  
  
"You don't play fair at all," Anya muttered as she moved over as far as she could on the bed and lifted the blankets in invitation. "All right. But if you hog the covers."  
  
"Thank you," Dawn said as she slipped under the covers and snuggled in next to Anya.  
  
"You're welcome. Now, go to sleep." 


End file.
